


Bittersweet spring

by LadyRo



Series: Tales from the Fourth Age (chronological) [7]
Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-25
Updated: 2016-02-25
Packaged: 2018-05-23 02:42:37
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,628
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6102173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyRo/pseuds/LadyRo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The new year begins with a difficult farewell as Éowyn and Faramir send their firstborn son to be Éomer's squire.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Bittersweet spring

_Súlimë 29, Fourth Age 22_

A few thin clouds accompanied the sun on its climb up the brilliant blue sky above the Pelennor while a warm breeze out of the south carried with it hints of the sea. Why, thought Éowyn, could the sky not weep over them now as it so often did on their journey home to Dol Arandur after the new year festivities? Rain on her face would mask some of the grief that would surely defeat her composure once they began to cross the causeway. There the band of Rohirrim that had acted as an unofficial but traditional escort for her family from Mundburg would turn toward the north gate in the Rammas Echor, and this time the riders would take with them her eldest son. 

How had she allowed Éomer to persuade her to let Elboron be his squire for the next two years? Her son was still too young, too much a child for the task. But as she picked out his raven-haired figure from the jumble of Rohirrim who were resaddling their horses after this short rest upon the green, she had to admit that there was perhaps less boyishness remaining in him than her mother's heart wished. He would celebrate his thirteenth birthday in two months and had grown enough over the winter that the squire's livery Éomer had brought was almost comically small. Despite the poor fit, Elboron wore it with pride. A smile appeared on Éowyn's lips as she watched him tug on one of the long sleeves, which fell closer to his elbow than to his wrist, after he had slung the saddle onto his pony's back. 

Soon the riders began forming ranks, and Éomer crossed the small space between the groups of Rohirrim and rangers. “You could not find clothes to fit him?” his sister asked again as he drew near.

“A minor hardship,” he replied, “and one that has drawn more complaint from you than from him. All will be made right in Edoras.” He reached out to her, and she stepped forward to complete the embrace.

“You take my very heart with you,” she whispered.

“I will look after him as though he were my own,” he promised, “and return him to you whole, strong and well.”

“See to it that you do.”

Éomer offered similar solemn words to Faramir, who had approached upon seeing the farewells begin, then turned more jovial as he scooped up his nine-year-old niece. Elerrína squealed with delight as he spun her around, sending her dark hair flying off her shoulders. He set her down and then raised his eyebrows at the two golden-headed boys who gazed up at him pleadingly. “No,” he said.

“But we can help you too!” Meriadoc insisted.

“You? You are hardly more than babes in arms,” their uncle teased.

“We are _eleven_ now,” Peregrin reminded him. “And we can carry even the heaviest saddles and–”

Éomer laughed and put an arm around each of them. “In due time, boys,” he assured them. He leaned down and added in a low voice, “Besides, I do not think your mother would ever forgive me if I took away all three of you at once.”

 _Indeed, I would not._ She knew that day too was coming, when the great house and gardens in the Emyn Arnen would be unusually quiet, but not yet. 

Éomer bade them all farewell, returned to the vanguard of his riders and sent Elboron over to say his own goodbyes. The boy embraced his brothers quickly before finding himself being squeezed tightly by his sister. Éowyn did not hear the words of advice and encouragement Faramir offered as she fixed in her mind this sight of father and son together, one tall and reserved, the other catching up in height and radiating excitement. And then her boy stood before her and looked up at her with his bright gray eyes. She wrapped her arms around him, brought him close and kissed his forehead gently.

“I wish you well, dear heart,” she said. “Now is the time to put into practice all the lessons your father and I have taught you. Obey the king, be wise in your decisions and do not give anyone the opportunity to find fault with your conduct.”

“Yes, mother,” he answered.

“Do not forget that though he is your uncle he is also the king of the Mark and you are there in his service, not merely as a sister-son on a long holiday.”

“Yes, mother.”

_Watch the simbelmynë on the mounds dance in the spring breezes. When the days grow hot, splash your face in the spring that flows through Edoras but do not drink your fill lest you get a stomachache from the cold mountain water. If you help Cynefrith with the apple harvest and take a turn at the press, she will let you have some of the fresh juice before it is put into casks to become apple wine. And in the clear night air of winter, look for the Swordsman as he rises to keep watch over Meduseld._

Elboron's voice broke into her thoughts. “Will you come up for the midsummer games?”

Éowyn glanced at Faramir, who shook his head, then looked back to her son and saw for the first time a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. She smoothed his dark locks behind his ears and tried to keep her voice steady. “It seems not, but perhaps we will find another reason to journey north.” She drew him close again and kissed his hair. “I love you, my son. All will be well.”

When she straightened, she saw Wulfstan, captain of the guard, striding toward them and at the same time heard Éomer bellow, “Where is my squire?” Elboron half-turned, craning his head over his shoulder.

“Come on, lad,” Wulfstan called, “the king is in need of you.”

The boy turned back to his mother and grinned. “I have to go!” he said. With that, he pulled free from her embrace and ran toward the riders, the edges of his green cloak flapping behind him.

Éowyn watched in silence as her son spoke briefly with his uncle before swinging up onto his pony and taking his place beside the king. Her eyes left him only when Faramir, behind her, said quietly, “It is time for us to go as well, melda.” He held her gray, and after she mounted, he squeezed her hand gently as he gave her the reins. When he was astride his bay, he looked around at the gathered company – wife, daughter and rangers – and frowned. “Where are–”

Two howls of protest cut short his question as two small riders on long-legged ponies were shooed out from behind the neatly formed lines of Rohirrim. Even Éowyn managed a chuckle as the twins were driven back to their proper traveling companions despite their continued objections regarding the utter unfairness of the situation.

A moment later a horn sounded and the Rohirrim began their journey north. Éowyn tried to keep the riders under the king's banner in sight, but all too soon the lines shifted and those in the van were hidden.

The rangers and her other children had reached the rebuilt forts, and she nudged her horse into a trot to catch up with them. Just before she entered the high-walled causeway, she twisted in the saddle for a final look back. A lone bay horse and rider remained, watching the departing northerners. She halted and waited for him. Only after the green cloaks blended into the grass of the fields did he urge his horse onward, and when he met her she noted a hurt in his eyes that she had not seen for many years. Without a word they set off down the causeway, followed by four rangers who had lingered.

The handful of miles between the Pelennor and the river city seemed particularly lengthy this time. More than once Éowyn's eyes flooded, but with great effort she kept the tears from falling. As the riders passed through the gates, Faramir announced he needed to make a short stop at his office in the city before they could continue. “Would you assist me?” he asked his wife.

“Of course,” she answered.

She walked through the door he opened for her, and he closed it behind them. When she turned around, he simply held out his arms to her. She allowed the storm that had begun building even before they left the white city to break as she rested her cheek against his chest and wept. He tightened his arms around her and kissed her, yet he was unable to keep a quaver out of his voice as he said, “I too miss him already, but I know he will make us proud and bring even more honor to your name in the Mark. Even so, this does not make his departure any easier.” He sighed. “They will test him to see whether he is truly the child of their Lady of the Shield-arm or simply a boy grown soft in the southern sun, but they will find he is wrought of the same steel as his mother.”

“I fear that steel has weakened over the years,” she replied as she wiped her eyes.

“Because you grieve at this farewell? Nay, tis a hard parting, one that makes my own heart ache as well. We are sending away a round-cheeked lad who will be well on the way to becoming a young man when we receive him back. We – you – have tended to him as carefully as any of the plants in your garden; now it is time for him to blossom.”

“Tis springtime, after all,” Éowyn said softly.


End file.
